


The Silence

by Annie_Eliza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brain Damage, Castiel/Dean Winchester discussed - Freeform, Emotional and Cognitive regression and fluctuation, Gen, Mentions of Suicide Attempts, Minor Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mute Dean Winchester, PTSD, Sam Winchester POV, Sensory Processing Disorder, Sign Language, Vessel Trauma, brief mention of catatonic states, mild loss of motor skills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 23:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16482158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie_Eliza/pseuds/Annie_Eliza
Summary: Even though Michael was expelled from Dean’s body a month ago, his brain, psyche, and range of abilities were hindered by debilitating side effects. While it was hard for Sam to accept that his brother may never be who he once was, taking it day by day and appreciating even the smallest of milestones had helped them all cope. With Cas working on teaching Dean how to sign, at least they would have a back-up plan if Dean never used his voice again.But even though Sam looked forward to the day when Dean could have a real conversation, sometimes words weren’t the most important aspect of having a meaningful moment with someone.





	The Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the show's original mythology (that they basically abandoned) in regards to how debilitating it was to be the vessel to an archangel. I wanted to explore how a true vessel's brain and behaviors might be more severely impacted. Enjoy!

It had been one month since his brother returned.

 

Sam knew the look in his eyes, understood the way Dean carried himself on a deeper level than any of the people in the bunker could, except for maybe Cas and Tre. The tension in his shoulders on days where everything just weighed too heavily, the way it looked as though - should Dean choose to roll them and relieve his joints - an arm might just snap off straight from the socket; the way he can’t let his guard down.

 

The fear.

 

The shame.

 

It wasn’t as if Sam hadn’t tried to talk to Dean about what happened after he said yes, after Michael went back on his word and used Dean’s body to spread his manipulation, holy driven terror, and bloodshed like a disease. He had. But Dean had barely said a word. He had said Sam’s name, he had said Cas’s as well. He hadn’t called out for Mom when he saw her, looking almost confused as to why she was even there. Sam was pretty sure Dean hadn’t even recognized Jack at first. Sam never got a confirmation if that had been the case or not, because Dean never said anything else after that.

 

Sam knew he should have been prepared for some sort of psychological consequence. The only thing that had delayed his own break was the wall. The term “saving grace” might have been a literal reason as to why Cas hadn’t lost it after his own time as Lucifer’s vessel. But Sam knew he and Cas were rarities. They had gotten lucky. Tre hadn’t been so lucky. As soon as he woke up from his time as Michael’s vessel, he couldn’t string a sentence together, control his bladder, or walk without spasming. The pain, guilt, and sheer confusion had led to the man isolating himself, to three suicide attempts. He talked a little bit now, albeit rarely and in fragmented, whispered sentences. Sam couldn’t blame him. The inhabitants at the bunker weren’t exactly warm towards Tre, although Sam had tried to be with him. Maybe it was because some part of him was preparing what he might face with Dean. Preparing for the lack of communication, preparing for the guilt, nightmares, and the excruciatingly terrifying prospect that Dean may do what Tre had done.

 

Sam wanted to believe that Dean was stronger than Tre, despite how messed up and insensitive it was to think that. But even though Dean had a bit more control over his bodily functions than Tre had, Sam knew the bleak reality. He knew that Dean had a history of everything else Tre had done in the last several months, and that this history might cause his time with Michael to exacerbate the effects on his psyche. Dean had gone mute for a time as a child, something that had blown Sam’s mind when he found out. Dean had had PTSD fueled nightmares for a decade, some of them debilitating and terrifying to watch if Dean woke up only half asleep. The one good thing about those were that Dean never seemed to remember them, never remembered going into survival mode or, sometimes worse, going into fetal position and whimpering while Sam tried to convince him he wasn’t a threat. Those type of nightmares had been rare in the last few years, maybe two times a year at most after a night of drinking, but they had made a strong resurgence in the last month. While they were somewhat similar to the ones Dean had pre-Michael, they were not unsimilar to the ones Tre had either.

 

And while Sam didn’t like to think about it, he knew that he needed to keep a close eye for signs that Dean might be considering ending his life. It wouldn’t be the first time. Although each time Dean displayed, in hindsight, what could be considered suicidal behavior, his rationale and methods varied greatly. For that reason, Sam didn’t feel like he was imposing by checking on Dean several times throughout the night. He was being safe.

 

Sam always tried to be quiet when he checked in on Dean. It could be hard to tell without Dean’s demands to back off, or some sarcastic question about whether or not Sam had changed his mind on that sleepover and if he wanted Dean to braid his hair after all. But nowadays, Sam had to go by non-verbal cues. Dean’s eyes being wide open, his eyes being screwed up too tight. Sometimes Sam knew Dean was up by the sheer fact that his brother’s back was towards the door, something that Dean usually tried to avoid as he fell asleep. It was those nights that Sam knew Dean was feeling particularly upset, that he didn’t want anyone who came in to see how he was doing to see his face. Usually on those nights, Sam just sat there next to him until Dean’s breathing evened out or Cas came to relieve him for the rest of the night.

 

Cas was pretty much the main reason Sam got any sleep at all. There had been times in the past where Sam had been a little jealous of Dean’s bond with Cas, how close he was with him. But in the last five years, Sam had gotten over that. While Dean had made vast improvements in regards to making friends, Sam knew that for the longest time Dean had a hard time letting himself get attached to someone other than his immediate family and Bobby. Cas had been a godsend, literally. While Dean struggled to open up to Sam a lot of the time, a residual need instilled in him by a lifetime of being an older protective brother, he was sometimes looser with Cas - more vulnerable. And while Sam wanted Dean to open up to him, he would be relieved if he opened up to Cas, to Mom, to Jack or Jody or even the alternate versions of their loved ones. Anyone, really. But Cas would be a good choice. Cas had taught Dean the ASL alphabet and signs that might be useful to aid in his communication with others until he began voicing his words again. Seeing Cas work with him always caused Sam to feel a buried ache as the images of brown hair, dark eyes, and an ornery and flirtatious smile began to form in his mind.

 

But walking in on some of those lessons had also led Sam to believe that Cas might have more patience, tenderness, and something that could be nothing other than love than a human could possibly feel, especially considering the fact that Dean’s responses to social interactions varied widely since he returned. Sometimes he was stubborn, flat out refusing to work with Cas on signing. Sometimes he avoided it completely, trying to leave the room or lead Cas to something else they could do. Sometimes he was needy and would sit close to Cas and hold onto his arm in between signs, as if he was desperate for approval. It was nice to see him try - sweet, almost, if you could ignore how out of character it was for Dean - but those behaviors would usually lead to him becoming overly upset if he got a sign wrong. Dean getting worked up due to frustration and self-doubt usually led to some sort of episode - knocking over furniture, punching himself in the head repeatedly with his fists, weeping. And occasionally it wasn’t any of those things. There were days when catatonia would hit Dean and the only thing you could do was sit there and keep him company.

 

The worry of the last one plagued Sam as soon as he began to approach Dean’s room. The door was closed but a soft, warm light seeped out into the hall from beneath it. It was about 3 am and if Dean were having a nightmare, Sam would have heard the terrified and somewhat muted screams by now. Letting out a breath to emotionally prepare himself for whatever might be going on (something Sam found himself doing these days more often than not), he put his hand on the handle and opened the door.

 

The sight wasn’t nearly as disturbing as Sam had prepared for it to be. Logically, he knew he worried probably too much over Dean, at least when he already knew Dean was being monitored. And he was right now. Dean was sitting up, staring at Cas with wide eyes as Cas sat on the edge of Dean’s bed. Dean seemed calm enough, although it was evident that he might not have been a little bit ago, going by the way Cas was applying sensory pressure to each of Dean’s hands. Squeezing them thoroughly and methodically, pressure seemed to be one of the few ways to ground Dean. Cas equated Dean’s current sensory perception to those with significant traumatic brain injuries or profound Autism. Dean’s circumstances altogether could probably be more aligned to the former, but there was no official diagnosis for being possessed for months by a powerful archangel without consent or not being fully healed as promised. As soon as they began to realize the extent of what was going on with Dean, cognitively, physically, and psychologically, Cas theorized that Michael most likely healed him just enough to keep the vessel long-term.

 

Unless they tracked down Michael - or Chuck - again and somehow managed to convince one of them to heal Dean, it looked as though Dean would probably never be the same. Sam didn’t mind grounding Dean and providing pressure to his hands, arms, and shoulders. Squeezing his brother’s skull bothered him a lot, something that was occasionally requested by Dean grabbing him in a panic and putting Sam’s hand against his forehead. It was better than seeing Dean bang his head or hit himself though, which there was always a chance of if Dean felt emotional, overwhelmed, and disregulated all at once. But Sam, with his more recent overbearing ways, could see it didn’t get that bad, that the hand squeezing being done right now was to soothe Dean and bring him comfort. Sam watched for a moment as Cas occasionally met Dean’s eyes, giving him small but reassuring smiles before continuing with the pressure.

 

“How’s he doing?” He asked, clearing his throat slightly as he made his way further into the room to run his fingers through Dean’s growing hair, which Dean pulled away from in annoyance. Dean seemed to crave physical affection a lot more than he had - frequent hugging, hand squeezing, straight up cuddling seemed to comfort Dean for the most part. Maybe it was purely for the sensory input that seemed to be such a strong focus in Dean’s life now, but Sam honestly did think that his brother wanted the affection due to wanting some emotional needs met that he could no longer satisfy with words. But Dean still had some pride that would interfere with that at times. Dean usually had to initiate it or be in an obvious sensory crisis to accept it, or else he would get exasperated by the well-meaning gestures, which Sam thought was pretty Dean-like.

 

“Ask him. And sign what you know. He needs the exposure,” Cas said quietly, but firmly, and Sam felt a stab of guilt at the order. He wasn’t the only one guilty of it, turning to Cas for updates on Dean even when Dean was right in the room. To his defense, Sam did it the least, probably because he dealt with Dean one to one about as often. But Cas communicated with Dean more. Cas understood the clumsy signs Dean might say better. Cas was the first one to realize that Dean was signing “Stupid” over, over, and over during the episodes where he would hit himself. He was the one who didn’t need signs at all. Sam was sure Dean and Cas spoke with their eyes anyway, he had been sure of it back before this all went down as well. Although Dean occasionally made gestures or expressed what he wanted Sam to talk about through actions. For instance, Dean found Godzilla on YouTube, which caused Sam to talk about the time their Dad had taken them to an old drive-in that refused to play movies made past 1950. Or more recently, when Dean became pissed off over Sam’s mother henning and he flipped him off. But Dean seemed to try to express himself more to Cas, and Sam wasn’t sure if it was just because Cas understood what Dean was trying to say better or because Dean felt a lot more comfortable trying to work through different ways to make conversation.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said, coming over to stand behind Cas as he rubbed his fist in circular motions against his chest, then sim-commed as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

 

Dean looked at him warily, as if he was thinking about giving Sam the silent treatment for his transgressions, but decided to shrug instead, almost indifferent. Sam knew that wasn’t the case though, especially when Dean let out a frustrated breath when Cas released his hands. As he reached over and almost roughly took Cas’s left hand in his right, Dean grabbed Cas’s right hand and prompted him to apply pressure to his left bicep with both hands. Cas let out a sigh, then scooted to the other side of the bed and got on his knees to deeply massage Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Your hands are free now,” Castiel reminded him softly, squeezing his arm harder as Dean pressed into him, “Why don’t you answer Sam’s question? And be truthful. Don’t give the easy answer.”

 

Dean turned to Castiel and glared, glanced at Sam, rolled his eyes in an exasperated manner, and pressed both hands into the air, higher and then lower.

 

_”Awesome.”_

 

“Are you?” Sam asked, “Or are you just saying that to get me to leave?”

 

In just the past month, Dean’s cognitive functioning had fluctuated immensely. Never plateauing for more than three days, never showing a steady improvement or regression for more than four before the gears decided to switch around in Dean’s head and let him go in another direction. There were pros and cons that could be associated with each state his mind was in and they had begun to become relatively easy to pinpoint with Dean’s actions, reactions, and awareness.

 

As soon as Dean lifted his foot to aggressively kick Sam in the thigh, Sam was sure it was Dean’s “Middle of the Road” state. This was the Dean who was aware of the people around him and most likely knew most of the names. He seemed to understand the entirety of simple conversations, the gist of most complex conversations, usually looked like he wasn’t lost if spoken to directly, but communicated very little and rarely initiated a conversation. The good thing about this Dean was that he was not blissfully unaware of what was going on around him. He knew how to tend to his basic needs without any kind of prompting. If in a good mood, this Dean could keep himself entertained and browse through Netflix in order to find something, even if he struggled with typing out a specific title he wanted to watch. However, he was just unaware enough to not be focusing on the gravity of his own situation. This Dean, whether in a good mood or bad, seemed to be able to recognize he had changed – he wouldn’t get so frustrated if he didn’t – but didn’t seem to comprehend how drastic that change was.

 

But “Middle of the Road” Dean in a bad mood? He tended to be violent. This was the Dean who was the most dangerous towards other people, often for very little reason. This was the Dean who couldn’t be trusted to leave the bunker, despite the needed supervision, while almost every other version could. This was the Dean who had scratched up Cas’s face, given Jack a bloody nose, given Sam a black eye, ripped out some of Mom’s hair, busted up Bobby’s lip, bruised up Jody’s collar bone. He also tried to beat the shit out of Tre, who had been pretty low functioning that day and was in a very childlike mindset. This was the Dean who often had to be restrained on the ground until he was inconsolable and covered in tears and snot. This was the Dean who Sam often thought broke his heart the most, at least until Dean moved on and another functioning level brought on its own set of issues. It wasn’t like anything Sam had heard of. He had interned with juvenile offenders who had behavioral issues for a semester. Some of those kids had cognitive impairments that exacerbated those behaviors. He minored in psych in college, had it set as part of a double major until the workload became too overwhelming, but he sure as hell wasn’t an expert. He knew that people could be triggered to regress, but never heard of constant fluctuations like this, as if Dean were just sliding up and down a scale. But he also knew that while Dean’s behaviors stemmed from a myriad of things – brain trauma, emotional trauma, psychological trauma – his case was nothing that could be studied up on much. Similar instances weren’t in books, although they all kept reading spell books, mythology textbooks, psychology textbooks, books on brain chemistry, books on TBIs, anything they could get their hands on. Sam was willing to read anything if it meant at least helping his brother become more stable and independent, Tre too. Fixing either of them didn’t seem to be in the cards, despite their resources.

 

“Dean, stop it,” Sam warned, firmly bringing down the side of his right hand against his open left palm and taking a few steps back as he watched his brother struggle to get out of Cas’s hold, “You want me to leave? That’s fine. But kicking people isn’t the way to get them out of a damn room.”

 

Dean dug his nails into Cas’s hands as he tried to slip through his friend’s grip. Sam eyed the situation warily. Sometimes Dean would instantly calm if the target went into another part of the bunker. Then there were times when Dean would just redirect his anger to the next person who spoke to him or dared to stand near him. It was always a risk to approach Dean when he was like this, even if he appeared to be calmer. He could be deceiving, fight dirty. That was how Cas ended up with a scratched up face last time. Dean came over to him, emotional and wanting to be hugged, only to do a 180 once he was in Cas’s arms by what Sam could only guess was an attempt to gouge out Cas’s eyes with his bare hands. It was the only time Sam thought it was a good thing that Dean’s motor skills were partially impaired by his ordeal.

 

“It’s alright. You’re okay. Sam loves you and he didn’t mean to make you upset. You don’t want to hurt him, Dean,” he heard Cas say softly as he tightened his grip on Dean, gently maneuvering himself so that he was no longer sitting on his knees. Cas spread his legs and shifted so that Dean was now closer to the center of the bed and sitting between his thighs. Dean still struggled, kept looking at Sam with irrational murderous intent.

 

“Should I go?” Sam asked Cas, unsure of which need was stronger: To stay and help Cas with an aggressive Dean or run back to his room so that he could pretend like he wasn’t crying into his pillow.

 

Cas looked unsure himself, and it made Sam remember that Cas technically wasn’t an expert either, he was just extremely dedicated to Dean and communicated with him better. He also didn’t seem to give a shit over the possibility of getting hit. The combination sort of gave Cas the aura of someone who knew what the hell they were doing.

 

“Maybe just step out into the hall for a little bit. He might be ready to talk to you after he calms down or I might need your help if he just gets worse,” Cas sighed, then winced as Dean threw his fists down against Cas’s forearms, “Dean, I don’t want to have to get other people involved! Restraining you is the last thing I want to do. But you can’t keep doing this when you’re frustrated. Do you understand? You hurt people when you’re like this.”

 

Maybe it was the desperation in Cas’s tone or just not wanting to watch Dean try to cause him bodily harm any longer, but Sam did what he was told without a word. He stayed right near the door and listened until Cas’s soothing pleas turned into words of comfort.

 

Hours after Dean calmed down, after Sam had come back in, returned Dean’s embrace, and tried to ignore the wetness against his shirt, Dean fell asleep. Resting his head against Cas’s elevated chest, Dean’s breathing came in and out steadily. He seemed to be peaceful, as if Cas’s touch hand gently rubbing circles into his back made everything right with the world.

 

“It was a nightmare.”

 

Sam met Cas’s eyes, shifting in his seat to wake himself up a little to get news about Dean, “Did he say what it was about?”

 

Cas shook his head, tenderly reaching up to stroke Dean’s hair, “That’s all he said before you came in. When I asked him what it was about, he just said it was stupid. I couldn’t get anything else out of him. He started becoming frantic and needed sensory intervention.”

 

Sam let out a breath and nodded, reaching up to rub his tired eyes, “Shit, Cas. I don’t know what to do with him. I’m trying, I am, but I can’t keep up with what we’re up against with him, day after day after day. He’s like a different person. He’s like several different people who pop up just one at a time-”

 

“He’s not a different person. He’s still Dean. He loves music. He loves burgers. He loves pie. He loves his family. He just expresses that love differently than he used to or has trouble doing so,” Cas interrupted sharply, then seemingly forced himself to calm, “We shouldn’t talk about this right now. He’s asleep, but he’s good at...what did you call it? Faking us out? We’ll talk about it later.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice raspy, “Sorry. It’s just really hard to see him like this.”

 

Cas let out a sigh as his gaze softened, “I know it is.”

 

“And Tre is a lot more...I don’t know, agreeable. Compliant. Happier, more recently.”

 

“Tre also seems to be starting to stabilize on a lower end of the spectrum he was on before,” Cas sighed sadly, “It’s important that he’s happy, but he was showing more progress and awareness when he was being defiant and wanting to harm himself. Now, please. He understands more than you think, at least he does today. Let’s just watch him rest.”

 

Sam sat back in his chair and watched Dean and Cas for a moment, “You know, the ‘watching people sleep’ thing has always been your hobby, not mine.”

 

Cas gave Sam a brief look of amusement before directing his eyes back to Dean, “You certainly do it just as much as I do now. Considering you keep coming back to check on him when you know it’s my night, I would say that you’ve accepted it.”

 

Dean stayed in the same relative mode for about three days without any big issues. He mainly stayed in his room and resisted coming out unless it was for food or to shower. When Sam was with him, he found himself on the bed next to Dean watching whatever his brother found on Netflix. This Dean seemed to appreciate anthology series, shows he didn’t have to remember plot points of previous episodes for. Right now, Dean was into Black Mirror, Channel Zero, and The Twilight Zone. If those got too dark for him, Dean would switch over to comedy. Although Sam was sometimes grateful for the change in tone, his brother’s current shows were a bit odd at best. Glee was probably the most surprising, considering how Dean occasionally mocked it dismissively before all of this happened. Although the number of characters and plot holes usually confused Dean when he was like this, the music seemed to really cheer him up.

 

That was one trait Dean kept across the board, regardless of where his head was at. He loved music. On days when Dean was at his highest functioning level displayed so far, the days where he was in a good mood and could cook for himself and sometimes even a few other people, do his own laundry, play chess, carry on conversations through sign, even write some of what he wanted to say, he used it as a coping skill. Wearing headphones and listening to music seemed to let Dean focus on daily tasks, chores, and activities. It kept him calm and seemed to keep the need for deep pressure at a low. On days when he was in a good mood and much lower functioning, days when he followed Cas or Sam around, randomly started clumsy games of tag, needed a lot of sensory intervention, and would sign ‘duck’ over and over and over until someone drove him to the park, he would spend the ride swaying in his seat to the sound of his cassettes playing through the stereo, rubbing his hands against his head, and seeming as if he felt the music within his very soul.

 

“I don’t get what’s going on,” Sam muttered, annoyed that he would have to go back and watch the episodes he missed, “Who’s with who now?” 

 

Dean pointed at Rachel and Finn on the screen, indicating that they were into each other again, before pointing enthusiastically at Kurt and some other guy on the screen. 

 

“Did Kurt get a boyfriend?” Sam asked, not particularly enthralled either way but intrigued by Dean’s excitement over it. Dean shrugged but hid a smile into his hands as he continued to watch his show. 

 

Sam waited until the end of the episode before starting any more conversation. As the credits rolled, Sam nudged Dean’s shoulder and began to sign, “I told everyone I would make dinner tonight. You want to help me? You’ve always been a better cook than me.”

 

Dean withdrew on himself just slightly but Sam didn’t give him a chance to shy away too much, gently pulling back on his shoulder to get his older brother to meet his eyes, “Hey. You’ve been doing really well the last couple of days. Just...look, if you feel like you’re going to start spiraling start tapping your fork against your plate. I’ll get back in here before anything can happen. Understand?”

 

Dean looked at him with sad and confused eyes as Sam forced himself not to groan. 

 

“Alright. Are you scared you might try to hurt someone if you’re around too many people?”

 

Dean took a moment and then nodded slowly. While there was the possibility the hesitancy to answer could be due to Dean still not understanding, Sam had to take a leap of faith and believe Dean did comprehend what Sam was asking and telling the full truth. 

 

“If you feel mad,” Sam started, tapping Dean on the shoulder to remind him to keep eye contact, “Or sad. Or really overwhelmed? Tell me. Just tap the table with your hand a few times and I’ll follow you out.”

 

Dean nodded again, looking away to think on it before meeting Sam’s eyes again to form his hand into a C, scratching his thumb against his cheek. Sam was still amused by the sign name Dean had come up with for Cas, referring to the ever present stubble. Even though most of the names in the bunker were rather short, it had been easier for Dean to come up with some sign names on one of his best days, something he had decided he would do after Sam began reminiscing about Eileen giving him a sign name during one of their many conversations through Skype. Once Dean decided it was a good idea to have something quick to refer everyone to, he had come up with something for all of them. Dean had joked and said that Sam’s should just be the word hair, before asking what Eileen had given him. 

 

Eileen had gone the extra mile with his. A hand in the shape of the letter S, cascading from his roots down to his shoulders, complete with an expression that belonged on a Loreal commercial. 

 

Dean had loved it. It was the only one he hadn’t made up himself. 

 

“Cas what?” Sam asked.

 

 _“Cas same?”_ Dean asked, his eyes on his own hand forming into the Y symbol as he moved it back and forth between himself and Sam.

 

Sam nodded and began to sign, “I’ll tell Cas. He’s with Tre today though. Remember?”

 

Sam watched Dean cautiously as his older brother began to clench his jaw and cross his arms over his chest. It was possible that it might not be the best day for Dean to sit down for a large dinner. While Dean had been fine the last couple of days, he had also mainly stayed in his room, only kept company by Sam, Cas, their mom, and for a few hours last night, Jack. This was still “Middle of the Road” Dean, albeit one who had been in a decent mood. “Middle of the Road” Dean could be affectionate, but could become possessive and jealous if he wanted someone at his side and couldn’t have it. He occasionally got that way with Sam, but Cas had been the main fixation. The only two people Cas gave any extended quality time to besides Dean were Tre and Jack. For some reason, Dean mostly accepted whenever Jack needed Cas. But Tre was a different story. Dean intimidated Tre and it sucked, because Sam knew that if Dean was still fully Dean, he would be pissed to see someone like Tre treated with disdain. 

 

“You can’t start getting pissed about it, Dean,” Sam warned, still watching for Dean’s reactions, “He needs help too. In a way, he needs more help. He’s in a different universe, woke up only to be surrounded by a bunch of strangers-”

 

_“Fine.”_

 

Dean signed the word quickly and efficiently, leaving little time for Sam to even process it, before getting off the bed and heading out the door. 

\------------------------------------------------------

Despite Dean passive aggressively throwing chopped vegetables into pots and throwing pans into the sink too roughly, it goes better than Sam was anticipating. Dean’s sensory needs throughout the meal were minor, easy to take care of with a few hand squeezes and a short break in the other room. He ended up sitting next to Cas when Tre voluntarily sat between Mary and Bobby. Other than a few glares shot at him every so often for who knew what reason, Dean left Tre alone. That was always a good thing, since Tre had no issues with Dean. Tre, with the exceptions of when he was actively trying to kill himself, had always been shy and sweet, even on the days he was feeling down. Don’t get Sam wrong, Dean could be adorable when he was in a happy mood, something he never thought he would call his almost 40 year old brother. But on a bad day, he could go from heartbreakingly sad to being a damn jerk.

 

“It’s good,” their mom said, meeting his eyes over her bowl of stew in order to give Dean an encouraging smile, signing ‘Good job’ as she said, “You did a good job, sweetheart.”

 

Dean scowled and didn’t say anything in return. Mom tended to do better with Dean when he was low functioning, regardless of his mood, or higher functioning and in a good or neutral mood. Usually Sam and Cas were the only two switching off when Dean was at this particular level. He was too unpredictable unless you knew him as well as they did, and even then both of them were not always quite sure how he would react to things.

 

Sam winced in sympathy at his mother’s fallen expression and cleared his throat, “Yeah, Dean was always the better cook. I probably would have burned it if it weren’t for him.”

 

The compliments didn’t seem to fly with Dean though, which was confirmed when Dean slapped the table with his hand with force and shoved his bowl away.

 

“Okay, let’s go,” Sam said, standing up to follow Dean out of the room.

 

Watching Dean try to communicate was tough. His signing vocabulary was limited, writing or spelling things out wasn’t effective unless he was having a good day cognitively since letters would often be mixed around or skipped altogether. It hurt Sam to see Dean so frustrated and upset, only for those feelings to escalate when they didn’t understand what he was trying to say. 

 

 _“Don’t want,”_ Dean signed with his right hand as he hit the wall with his left, _“Don’t like.”_

 

What don’t you like?” Sam asked before signing, _“Don’t like what?”_

 

_“Mom.”_

 

Sam forced himself not to huff, “Dean, Mom loves you. Just last week you couldn’t get enough of her. What changed?”

 

 _“Stupid. Mom thinks I’m stupid,”_ Dean signed, getting more emotional, _“I know.”_

 

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, “Dean, come on. She doesn’t think that- “

 

_“Stop. You lie. You think too. Want car.”_

 

Sam wanted to argue the point, he really did. But arguing with Dean when he was so upset never went well. Ever. 

 

“We can go for a drive,” Sam said, signing the words as soon as Dean met his eyes. It was risky, taking Dean out when he was like this. Despite it just being a little over a month since they got him back, gone off in the car twice already, once trying to fling himself out and once in an attempt to grab the wheel. Unless it was a day where Dean was really on his game, it was better to have another passenger or two in the car and for Dean to sit in the back. 

 

_“I’ll drive. My car.”_

 

“No,” Sam objected, shaking his head, “Sorry, man. It’s too soon. You’re...you’re still healing. Going through a lot of stuff. It’s not safe. Maybe when you’re having a really good day we can try, but I don’t feel comfortable with it right now.”

 

Sam prepared to be hit over that, because he could understand what Dean’s perspective probably was. Because to Dean, who was Sam to keep him away from his car? But Dean surprisingly didn’t hit him. All he did was sink down to his knees, put his face in his hands, and cry, which of course made Sam wish Dean would have just hit him instead.

 

“Dean…” Sam started, letting out a shaky breath as he crouched down, got on his brother’s level, and rubbed Dean’s back, “We can still go for a ride. I like us driving around together. I miss it. What about a longer drive? There’s that state park that’s 45 minutes away. We could go and sit by the lake for a couple of hours. Stay until it’s dark and look at the stars, if you want-”

 

 _“Stop!”_ ,” Dean signed, briefly removing his hands from his wet face to slam the side of his hand against his palm, his glaring, red rimmed eyes shining with tears, _“Stop. Alone. Want alone.”_

 

 _“Alone here?”_ Sam signed, feeling nervous already, then cleared his throat to speak, “I don’t...I’m not...Dean, you’re upset right now and I...Would you be okay if Cas sat with you instead?” 

 

Dean let out a sob and covered his face again, panicked and hysterical breaths barely muffed through his hands. Sam didn’t speak for a few moments - not sure what to say, not sure if saying anything would be a good idea right now, not sure if he could say anything without bursting into tears himself. Because honestly? Sam could feel it - the raw devastation and desperation coming off of his brother in waves. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time Dean demanded to be left alone when he was this worked up. The thing was, Sam wished he felt like he could leave Dean alone right now. He wished he could just walk out of the room and let Dean cry it out and deal with this heartache in a way that he saw fit. Because Dean had to feel suffocated to some extent by all of the supervision, regardless of how aware he was from day to day. Sam knew he would feel frustrated and upset by it if he were in Dean’s position and he knew Dean would be just as overbearing as Sam had been. 

 

_“Want Dad. Want my dad.”_

 

The signs took a moment to register with Sam, as simple as they were. It wasn’t the way Dean signed it. He signed it clearly despite how emotional and worked up he was. But Dean had mentioned their father twice before since he had come back over a month ago. Once was on a good day, a day where Dean wanted Sam to reminisce about things that had happened when they were kids. Sam had no issue with that, no issue with Dean wanting to hear about happier times with the people they loved and lost. But the other time? Dean had been much lower functioning that day, could not process that their father was dead, and kept looking around and asking for him. Essentially, he had been a young child who desperately wanted his dad. John Winchester hadn’t been the perfect father. Sam knew that Dean had a lot of resentments there that lingered. But he had been their main caretaker. He had loved them. Dean looked up to him until the man died. Sam knew deep in his heart that their dad would have searched day and night for a way to help Dean and would have cared for him if he ended up as empty handed as Sam had been thus far. He could see why Dean would subconsciously want their dad here. There would be no hang-ups due to his younger brother taking care of him, he wouldn’t feel like a burden to his best friend, he wouldn’t feel self-conscious about their mother taking care of him, a woman who loved them but did not know them the way John had. Maybe it wasn’t that complex. Maybe that was just Sam trying to put himself in Dean’s position. It was hard to get in Dean’s head nowadays. 

 

“Why do you want Dad?” Sam asked as he signed, rubbing Dean’s back a little more, wondering if it was worth the risk to put his arm around him or not. 

 

Dean didn’t answer at first. Instead, he let out a whine and looked around the room with panicked, desperate eyes, breathing erratically - never a good thing. Whether it meant Dean was too worked up to communicate further or didn’t have the vocabulary to express what he wanted to say, it was often a sign that he was looking for a way to distract himself through more physical means. 

 

“You need pressure?” Sam asked, quickly scooting close to offer Dean one of his hands. Dean grabbed his hand roughly and slammed it against his forehead. Sam pressed his other hand to the back of Dean’s skull and began to squeeze, trying to ignore the sound of Dean’s panicked cries.

 

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” Sam murmured when Dean began to slump onto him, gathering his brother up as he began to calm, “Shhhh…”

 

Sam didn’t get much else out of Dean, only that Dean missed Dad, using the wrong sign for miss, it initially reading as if Dean missed their dad stopping by that day, rather than him missing his presence in their lives. Sam knew what he meant though and it wasn’t a time or place to correct him anyway, not when he was so drained, not when he used signs to get his message across the best that he could, even though it started making Sam want their Dad too. Sam never looked at Dad like he was some all-knowing guy who could fix anything. Their dad had drank too much on and off, struggled immensely with grief and PTSD, and often had shown his love in ways that could be lacking at times. But Sam did miss the good, the parts of their father he didn’t appreciate back when he was alive. He missed having their father surprise them with stops around the country that most kids didn’t get to see. He missed the trainings, despite hating them at the time. He now recognized that he would be dead if it weren’t for their father. He missed his hugs, because while their father struggled with being verbally affectionate, he was always willing to hug them when they needed it. 

 

Dean probably needed that right now. That sense of protection and care that only a hug from their dad could provide. Maybe that was why Dean missed him so much tonight, or maybe it was the way Dean connected their father to the Impala, which started his meltdown to begin with. Sam still wasn’t sure of the answer. He wasn’t sure of the answer to just about anything these days. He wished he could bring back Dad for him though, he really did. But they didn’t even have the connections to fix Dean, despite Rowena’s many attempts to find a spell to do that. He daydreamed about it once though, the day Dean asked for him over and over before crying himself to sleep. He thought of how happy Dean would be to see him, how Dad could take some of the pressure off of them by being another person Dean could hopefully depend on. He thought about if he couldn’t find a way for Dean to get better, that maybe he could find a way to bring their father back. Maybe he could bring Eileen back too. She could help Cas teach Dean and Tre, or just be a friend again if she wasn’t up for that. But if she was, maybe everyone in the bunker could learn real ASL, not just SimCom. Maybe bringing someone back from the dead would end up being easier than healing his brother. 

 

Some world they lived in. 

 

Sam let out a sigh and looked down at Dean. He could tell Dean was slipping into a different headspace. Instead of Glee or one of the creepy Anthology series, he had been alternating back and forth between Scooby-Doo and Looney Tunes. There was a good chance Dean would need help getting dressed tomorrow, would need someone to sit in the bathroom while he bathed. He would need his meals made for him, some of his food cut up, and a lot of physical affection, enthusiasm, and love to keep him happy. There would be very little conversation. Dean would express his basic wants with one sign or gesture and keep it at that. Whenever Dean got into this headspace, Sam felt like his brother wasn’t there at all. 

 

 _“Hold,”_ Dean signed as he stared up at him, before stretching his arms out. 

 

Sam forced himself to smile as he sat next to his brother on the bed, letting out an exaggerated “Ooof!” as Dean launched forward to cling onto him. Sam wrapped his left arm around him and ruffled his hair with his right, “Your hair’s getting long. It’ll be longer than mine before you know it.”

 

Dean didn’t answer, opting to nuzzle into Sam’s chest and watch TV. 

 

“Hey, Dean?” Sam tried again, “Dean, who’s that?” 

 

Sam pointed at Porky Pig on the screen and Dean lifted his head up slightly to get a better look. Dean glanced back at Sam, giving him a dazed smile and a shrug, then continued watching his show. Sam tapped Dean’s shoulder to prompt him, and signed the word pig. He left out the word ‘Porky’. Dean couldn’t fingerspell when he was like this, although they weren’t sure if it was because his attention span was so short or because he didn’t have the reading comprehension abilities that he did on the days where he was much more independent. It took a few repeats on Sam’s part, putting his hand on the back of his chin and flapping his fingers down, until Dean took the hint and hesitantly copied the word.

 

“Awesome,” Sam said, lifting his hand to give Dean a high five, although Dean didn’t return it. Instead, Dean decided to give him the sign for ‘I love you’ by pressing it up to Sam’s palm. 

 

And yeah, Sam could admit that was adorable. 

—-————————————

Waking up the next morning went smoothly enough. Dean was a little more proactive than usual, taking initiative to wake Sam up, a book ready for Sam in his hands, before leading him to the closed toilet seat to prompt him to sit down. It wasn’t like Sam had much time to read the book he had been reading for who knew how long, not with Dean trying to rush through his shower and Sam having to call out reminders every minute. Sam was pretty sure Dean knew Cas would probably be with him today and was getting excited. They didn’t have an official schedule or anything, a paper for the month stating who was going to be with Dean, who was going to be with Tre, and who was going to oversee the operations of the bunker and which hunters were going to which hunts. But it tended to alternate every two days between himself, Cas, and Mom, with Bobby and Charlie filling in on the occasional day here and there. It depended on behaviors and situations at times. Tre responded well to Mom when he was particularly anxious so if there was a stretch where he would feel that way, then she would stay with him longer than the two days. Dean often responded well to Cas when he was being particularly defiant or depressed, while he responded to Sam better when he was prideful. But generally, it was a two day rotation system and Dean knew who was coming next. Knowing Cas would be his person next usually made him pretty happy.

 

“Clothes,” Sam ordered to a naked and excited Dean, one who was attempting to make a run for it from the shower to the door, most likely so that Sam wouldn’t be his person anymore. Sam pointed at the folded pile on top of the hamper and gave Dean a stern look, although the sternness didn’t even seem to register enough to calm Dean down much. He stood still though, enough so that Sam could dry him off but had too many thoughts going on in his head to actually do the task himself. When it came down to it, Sam was happy when Dean was happy, even though the Dean in this headspace found that happiness hard to physically contain to the point where Sam found it hard to get him dressed. This Dean would vocalize his happiness a lot: squealing and laughing, along with flapping his hands and stomping his feet, acting in ways Sam had never seen Dean act until this all happened. 

 

“You happy today?” Sam asked him, holding back a laugh as Dean began jumping in place, “Can you contain your excitement just enough to get your shirt on? You’re halfway there, dude.” 

 

Dean briefly getting lost in his own shirt didn’t seem to put a damper on things. As soon as his head poked through and his arms got through the holes, he was back to his overly excited ways once more, taking Sam’s hands, smiling as if he were feeling exhilarated, before seeming to remember why he was feeling that way and running out of the room. Sam trailed off behind him, not too worried about what Dean could get into if he was out of sight for a few moments. Dean had a one track mind right now and Sam knew where he was going. 

 

Sam caught up with Dean in the kitchen, where he found his brother squealing in delight as he wrapped his arms around his best friend’s middle. 

 

“Did you come in here to help me?” Cas asked Dean, signing along before returning the hug and leading Dean over to the counter, “I found something called a frittata in that cookbook we found. Remember when we found that? It was tucked behind the books on Djinn mythology…”

 

Once Sam was sure Cas was good to take Dean, he silently slipped out of the kitchen and made his way back to his room to grab his laptop. Within an hour, he was dispatching hunters to Wyoming to investigate what looked like might be a vamp nest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The Sign Language here is not proper ASL, but using signs from the ASL language as a communication aide in English grammatical structure. Also, in Deaf culture, it is usually custom for a deaf person to give you a sign name after getting to know you and seeing that you're making an effort when it comes to understanding their culture and language. It was a tough call in regards to Dean giving his family sign names but I ultimately decided he had a right to since signing is now his primary language and it would be a little more efficient than spelling out their names each time due to his current cognitive abilities.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
